Howdy, folks. Iowa here. You know us: 29th state, 3 million people, 16 million pigs. A great state fair, juicy sweet corn in the summer and, well, let's not talk about winter.

It's that time again.

Unless it's discovered that Michael Jackson and Britney Spears had a love child and named him Scott Peterson, our state's first-in-the-nation presidential caucuses are going to dominate the national agenda for a few days. (Related audio: Handicapping the field)

What's it like to be here?

"It is a wonderful celebration of democracy in a state that understands its heavy responsibility to help pick the leader of the free world," says our governor, Tom Vilsack. "There's no better place in the country to start this process, because Iowans are interested, involved and experienced."

You'd expect him to say that.

For the rest of us, it's hard to describe. It feels like the week before a political Super Bowl. Or, better, like our birthday. Everyone else in the country may go about business as usual, but this is our moment to feel blessed.

It's showtime, and we're the show.

This is the time of year when you can go to the Marriott Hotel in Des Moines and find the 12th Annual National No-Tillage Conference on one floor and CNN's Inside Politics broadcasting on another.

It's the time of year when a couple in Ames can host a party and have both Howard Dean and John Kerry show up.

It's the time of year when a Dean campaign volunteer meets a woman from Iowa Falls who needs a new wheelchair. He calls someone, and the next thing you know, the whole county is trying to raise $5,000 for Mary Sathoff.

Thousands of campaign volunteers have invaded. We've passed out credentials to more than 850 journalists, from as far away as Japan, Australia and Germany.

"This kind of exposure is hard to put a number to," says Greg Edwards, president of the Greater Des Moines Convention and Visitors Bureau. "It's basically free advertising."

Look, America, we hear the grumbling. That we're too white, too small, too old and too cold to have such a loud voice in choosing a president.

The caucuses, we know, are a quadrennial test, not just for presidential candidates but for Iowans, too. Are we worthy to play such an outsized role in choosing the nation's leader?

That's why we look forward to the caucuses. We know that a whole bunch of important people are going to fly here and spend months talking pretty to us. Calling us the heart of America, the breadbasket of the world, and the nation's last bastion of common sense, hard work and decency.

So please forgive us, America, if we feel jilted by Joe Lieberman and Wesley Clark, who turned their backs on us to woo that floozy New Hampshire. Just think of all the wonderful things they, too, could have said about us.

Maybe this tradition of flattery explains why Dean got in trouble last week for suggesting years ago — we are shocked! — that the Iowa caucuses are dominated by special interests. How dare Dean question the purity of Damsel Iowa?

But if we're vain, at least give us credit: Many Iowans take their role very seriously. They host candidates in their homes. They attend forums. They ask pointed questions.

See, America, that's the secret of the Iowa caucuses. We meet the candidates; they meet us. We shake their hands and invite them into our homes. We find out whether they take cream in their coffee and then listen to their 10-point plans for improving education.

We share a few laughs, solve a few of the world's problems. Then, on the morning of Jan. 20, the candidates will abandon us to whisper sweet campaign promises to the voters of New Hampshire, South Carolina and states beyond.